The apprentice sighs dramatically before dragging the ruined mold back toward the furnace.
Roseth waits until he disappears fully into the workshop before laughing under her breath.
I still stop breathing for half a heartbeat whenever she does that. Sunlight spills through the open forge windows, warming the scattered tools and hanging instruments lining the walls. The old forge expanded months ago into a proper workshop overlooking the lake. Travelers now crowd Bellmere weeks before the Autumn Resonance Festival begins, many arriving specifically for Roseth’s bells.
Some come for instruments and the others come because stories travel quickly through Protheka.
Stories about the bellsmith who silenced a resonance storm, one with the ability to counter a dark elf’s soundweaver.
Roseth hated the attention at first.
Now she handles it with amused patience while terrifying apprentices into competence.
“You are staring again,” she mutters without looking at me.
“I am appreciating craftsmanship.”
“That excuse stopped working months ago.” she fires back.
Probably true.
She crosses the workshop carrying three newly polished bells balanced carefully against one hip. Confidence settles naturally into her movements now. Not arrogance. Certainty.
A year ago she still questioned herself whenever resonance behaved strangely around her work.
Now she teaches others how to listen for harmonic shifts before the metal even cools.
I knew she was extraordinary the moment I heard her first bell. Watching her finally believe it herself feels even better.
Tali bursts through the workshop door before I can answer.
“Miss Rose, the travelers from the eastern roads are here!”
Roseth winces immediately. “Please tell me they are not the nobles again.”
“They brought musicians this time.”
“That is somehow worse.” she winces.
I laugh quietly into my tea while Tali beams triumphantly.
The workshop door opens again moments later, this time revealing Sylvi carrying festival ribbons beneath one arm while Brohm struggles behind her with crates of cider bottles.
“You two still live inside this workshop,” Sylvi says accusingly.
“We also sleep occasionally,” Roseth replies with sass.
“Barely.”
Brohm sets the crates down near the entrance before glancing toward me. “The council is gathering already near the lake.”
My shoulders tighten slightly and she notices instantly.
Her hand brushes lightly against mine beneath the workbench.
“You survived resonance storms,” she murmurs quietly. “You can survive public appreciation.”
“I preferred the storms.” I mutter.
